


winner winner

by youcouldmakealife



Series: it's a setup [9]
Category: Original Work
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-05
Updated: 2020-05-05
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:48:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24028411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youcouldmakealife/pseuds/youcouldmakealife
Summary: Willy can be a dog with a bone, but Willy can also be a dog distracted by a squeaky toy, so Joey figures his weird little mania has passed, and Joey’s safe now.Except Willy is also a dog patiently waiting for a squirrel to make a mistake. The mistake being to think that you, a squirrel, are ever safe.
Relationships: OMC/OMC
Series: it's a setup [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1669567
Comments: 38
Kudos: 333





	winner winner

It happens when Joey’s guard is down. He has a nice, uneventful few weeks first. He turns twenty-five, gets a shaving cream pie slammed in his face in the middle of a postgame interview — he was expecting it, at least — and a cake from the team he ate about two bites of and Scratch must have eaten five slices of. He sternly turns down multiple offers of twenty-five shots, because he is an adult now, twenty-five is old and mature and also Joey remembers his twenty-third birthday. Well, some of it. Enough that he knows he didn’t make it to twenty-three shots, but fuck did he try, and the next morning he woke up cuddling his toilet with half his clothes and one shoe still on, and the worst hangover he’d had in his life. Twenty-three taught him things.

He sees Owen twice, texts him pretty often, and other than casually asking how Willy is — the way you ask about mutual friends, not the way you ask about the dude you’re infatuated with, at least Joey thinks and hopes so — Owen doesn’t mention the team, or joining them after another game. Willy can be a dog with a bone, but Willy can also be a dog distracted by a squeaky toy, so Joey figures his weird little mania has passed, and Joey’s safe now. 

Except Willy is also a dog patiently waiting for a squirrel to make a mistake. The mistake being to think that you, a squirrel, are ever safe.

It’s after another win in what’s feeling like an endless succession of them. Well, they lost the game before, but that was in a shootout, and it was against one of the best teams in the league — the best team that isn’t them, in fact — so it didn’t take that much wind out of their sails. They came back swinging, a 5-1 rout of Toronto, and Scratch got the game winner, hasn’t stopped texting since, busy rubbing it in all his Leafs fan relatives’ faces, narrating the texts he’s sending aloud when they Uber together to the bar. They’re mostly variations of ‘suck it’, slightly more polite when it’s to the aunts and uncles, literally just ‘suck it’ to his cousins, and extra mean to his siblings.

Joey, not for the first time, is simultaneously jealous and relieved he doesn’t have a gigantic extended family like Scratch’s. 

They’re two of the last to arrive at the bar, and Trigger puts his hands on his hips when they sit down. “Where were you?” he says. “We’ve been waiting like—”

“Two minutes,” Shithead says. “You got here two minutes ago.”

Trigger ignores him. “Game-winner buys the first round,” Trigger says, which suddenly explains why they were missed. Vultures.

“I don’t remember that being the way it usually goes,” Scratch says.

Joey winces pre-emptively, because Scratch has just set himself up majorly for a ‘no wonder you don’t remember, since you never get them’.

“But you’re too hyped you got the game-winner against your hometown team to argue,” Trigger says, taking the high road for possibly the first time in his life.

“Yeah, yeah,” Scratch says. “Fine, but I’m just getting beers, no one’s getting anything complicated.”

Joey gives him a hopeful look.

“Yeah, Money, you’re getting your stupid vodka soda,” Scratch says.

“With a splash of cran!” Joey says, and Scratch gives him the finger as he walks away, but Joey bets the splash will be there.

“Hey Money,” Willy says, mock casual, which is the exact polar opposite of casual and also very ominous.

Joey’s worst fears are promptly realized.

“Owen’s on his way,” Willy says. “He just texted to let me know he’d be here in ten.”

Joey glares at him.

“What?” Willy says. “I’m helping!”

“Helping would have been telling me before we got here!” Joey says. Or like, this morning, so Joey would be wearing something other than sweats and a too big t-shirt he thinks might be Scratch’s. This was supposed to be a stick around for a drink or two then go home and veg night, not an Owen night. Joey isn’t in the right headspace for this. Joey isn’t in the right _clothing_ for this. “Is my hair okay?”

“It’s your hair,” Willy says with a shrug, which Joey fears means ‘no’.

“Oh god,” Joey says. He wants to go to the bathroom and check himself, but it’s not like he has gel or anything to fix it if it’s awful, and it’s probably weirder to have damp hair than messy hair if he resorts to using water to tame any cowlicks. Plus what if Owen gets there earlier than expected and Joey’s not there? It’s not like Willy and Trigger behaved when Joey was sitting right across from them, but Joey bets they _really_ wouldn’t if Joey wasn’t supervising.

He smooths a hand over his hair. It _feels_ okay? He thinks? Fuck. He opens his phone, turns the camera to selfie. Not terrific, but not terrible. The sweats and shirt he can’t do anything about now — he doesn’t exactly have time to run home, or to the arena to grab his game day suit out of its drycleaning bag — but at least he’s got his teeth in.

“Oh Money,” Willy says, all condescending, like he isn’t the sort of dude that stops in front of every reflective surface to check if he’s looking as perfect as usual. No game day suit for him either, but he’s wearing jeans that look like they were tailored for him — they probably were — and a shirt that somehow drapes and shows off every bit of musculature he has at the same time. And there is a lot of musculature. _He_ knew Owen was coming. He probably dressed extra good to make Joey look even worse in comparison, because he’s the _devil_.

Joey sighs and lowers his phone, because the last thing he needs is Owen suddenly appearing and catching Joey staring at his own face. He does a survey of the bar. Packed, so he probably won’t be able to see Owen until Owen finds them — cluster of tables of massive dudes is easier to find than one average sized guy. He can see Scratch at the bar, proving Joey’s massive dude point. His nose is in his phone, so Joey can’t even do a ‘help me!’ wave. Not that Scratch could help anyway. Like, what could he do, tell Joey his hair looks fine and he’s worrying about nothing?

That would be nice, actually. 

_Tell me my hair looks fine._ , Joey texts Scratch.

He can see Scratch look up, eyes narrowing on Joey before his nose is right back in his phone. _Your hair is fine weirdo_

_Thank you._ , Joey texts. He feels a little better now.

“Owen!” Willy says, waving wildly, and Joey is annoyed he didn’t notice Owen first. Which makes no sense, because he’d probably do the exact same thing, so the end result would still be Owen smiling and walking over, but still. Willy doesn’t deserve that smile. 

Owen sits beside Joey, though. Suck it, Willy. He’s not sitting beside _you_.

That may have more to do with the fact there are isn’t a free spot beside Willy, but whatever.

“Didn’t know you were coming,” Joey says. Is it dumb to be upset Owen didn’t text him with like ‘Hey Willy invited me out! See you tonight!’ or something? Probably. Is Joey upset anyway? Yes.

“Last minute,” Owen says. “I wasn’t going to able to make it, then plans fell through.”

“Plans?” Joey asks.

Owen waves a dismissive hand, so it probably wasn’t a date. Right? He’d be upset if a date fell through.

“My friend and I were going to hang out, but her girlfriend came to town to surprise her,” Owen says.

Seriously, how does Owen have so many friends? Can he teach Joey his ways? Joey wants gay friends too. Or like. Any non-Scout friends at all. That’d be great.

“Anyone going to help, or are you just going to sit on your asses?” Scratch says from behind Joey, and Trigger hops up to help him distribute pitchers and glasses. Scratch gives Joey this comically offended look, which Joey assumes is because Owen’s sitting in Scratch’s spot. Which — okay, maybe Joey should have defended his spot considering Scratch only left to get drinks for the table, and the table includes Joey, but there are extenuating circumstances. He’s sure Scratch understands.

“Nice, Munroe,” Scratch says loudly, about as loudly as he plonks Joey’s drink on the table, so perhaps Scratch does not understand. “Didn’t know you were coming, sorry Owen,” he says, because he has manners. Not towards Joey, but since Joey gave up his seat, he’ll let it slide.

“That’s fine, I have one already,” Owen says, holding up his own drink. 

“Is that taken?” Scratch asks three people sitting at a four-top near them, and at their shrug, picks up the chair and brings it over, glaring meaningfully at Joey, who starts scooting his chair over.

“Scoot,” he mutters, like Joey isn’t already doing that. Joey’s pressed thigh to thigh with Owen by the time Scratch has gotten a corner of table. Scratch is either the best friend ever, or the worst one. Joey hasn’t decided.

Scratch elbows him in the side when he takes a sip of his beer, just as close to Joey as Joey is to Owen, and Joey, mid-sip of his own, sends vodka soda — splash of cran, Scratch came through — splattering, hitting the table and narrowly missing Owen’s sleeve. Worst friend. Joey’s decided now.

“Sorry,” Joey says to Owen, who’s already mopping up the droplets with a napkin.

“Tight fit with hockey players,” Owen says. 

“You should see what it’s like when it’s three of us in the back of an Uber,” Joey says. 

“Joey’s just upset because he always gets middle seat,” Scratch says. “Because he’s tiny.”

“Okay, literally no one on the entire earth has described 6’1” as tiny,” Joey says. “Ever.”

“Tiny,” Trigger declares.

“Just because you’re a gangly freak of nature,” Joey says. “Does not mean—”

“You hear him, Owen?” Trigger says. “Showing his true colors. Calling me a gangly freak of nature. My genetics are not my fault, Munroe.”

Willy’s looking on with a tiny smile, like a fucking chaos demon who’s pleased with the trouble he’s causing.

“Oh my god,” Joey mutters.

“My genetics are, in fact, why I am the absolute brick wall in the net that I am,” Trigger says over Joey. “So you should be thankful for my gangly ass.”

“Gangly ass,” Scratch mutters under his breath, which gets Joey biting down on his bottom lip not to laugh, which will just spur Trigger on. He does have a gangly ass, at least compared to the rest of the room. A walking, talking goal saving praying mantis.

“Praying mantis are sick,” Trigger says happily when Joey can’t help but say that out loud. “Don’t they bite their mates’ heads off after sex? Fucking sick.”

“They literally hunt birds that are like, more than twice their size,” Scratch says.

“ _Sick_ ,” Trigger says. “Guys, call me Mantis, I wanna be Mantis now.”

Owen’s got this faintly bemused smile on his face, and Joey realizes that Trigger and Willy were too busy telling embarrassing stories about Joey last time for Owen to get the full effect of ordinary conversation among them. Which is, you know — stupid. Joey’s obviously used to it — this isn’t even the dumbest one today — but Owen hangs out with like, Masters students and stuff. Not dudes demanding to be called Mantis. You’d think Trigger would be happy with Trigger. He’s already got the most badass name on the team, but he just wants more.

Joey leans into Owen a little more. “I am so sorry for them,” he says under his breath.

Owen laughs. “They’re funny.”

“Joey talking shit about us to you, Owen?” Trigger says. “You talking shit about us, Money?”

“I think he is,” Willy the Chaos Demon says, still sporting that little smile.

“He’s saying only nice things,” Owen says sweetly, and Joey grins at him.

“Liar!” Trigger says. “Money’s made a liar out of you! We thought better of you, Owen.”

“I’d tell you’re they’re not always like this, but they’re always like this,” Joey murmurs at Owen, and Owen laughs and knocks his shoulder against Joey’s. 

“Now they’re whispering about us, Scratchy,” Trigger says. “I feel so betrayed.”

Scratch’s nose is back in his phone, probably too busy responding to irate responses to his ‘suck it’s to get involved, because usually he’ll take any chance to join the pot stirring.

Joey peers over Scratch’s shoulder. “Who’s maddest?” he asks.

“Huh?” Scratch asks.

“About the Leafs,” Joey says.

“Oh,” Scratch says. “I dunno, probably Alex. Lot of middle fingers from her.”

“He’s not even bothering to respond to that!” Trigger says loudly.

“Oh, did you say something?” Joey asks him.

“Bastard,” Trigger says.

“Bastard,” Willy echoes.

Well. At least Owen got to know Joey away from all of them before they showed their true selves? Maybe he won’t even ghost Joey now. ‘Yes, his friends are all batshit, but he’s nice other than that!’. Though that sounds like the kind of thing your friends would say ‘red flag, dude’ to. So. 

“I am so sorry,” Joey says to Owen for probably the tenth time as they wait outside for their Ubers. Thankfully it ended up being a two drink night as well as an Owen night, because fuck knows what would have happened once the idiots got drunk.

“Stop saying sorry,” Owen says. “You don’t have anything to be sorry about.”

“Oh, I’m apologizing for _them_ ,” Joey says, and Owen laughs. 

“They’re funny,” Owen says. “Though Trigger’s a little—”

“Nuts?” Joey says. “That’s like, all goalies. We just gotta go with it.”

“Is he going to be Mantis the next time I see him?” Owen asks, so Joey guesses he hasn’t decided to never ever see the rest of them again? Mixed emotions, there. Means Joey will see him, but means he’ll be exposed to more of the rest of them.

“I will do everything in my power to keep that from happening,” Joey says solemnly. Especially because it’s his fault that Trigger got the idea in the first place.

“Money, get your ass over here or get your own ride,” Scratch yells from halfway down the block.

“One sec!” Joey yells back. “Sorry, none of them have any manners, I tried to warn you. Like. Repeatedly.”

“You did,” Owen says with a laugh. “Go with your boy before you lose your ride.”

“Yeah, okay,” Joey says. “Hang out soon? Hopefully with no like, total idiots around?”

“Love to,” Owen says, not even taking advantage of how Joey one-hundred percent set himself up for something like ‘so not with you either, then?’ and Joey tries and fails not to let that get his hopes up.

“Finally,” Scratch mutters when Joey slides in beside him, twisting awkwardly because Trigger’s already pushed the front seat back as much as possible for his gangly legs. 

“So sorry to make you wait one whole minute,” Joey says.

“I like Owen,” Trigger says. 

“You said that last time,” Joey says.

“Even though you’re training him for _evil_ ,” Trigger continues. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Joey says. “Cry more.”

“Back me up here, Scratch,” Trigger says.

“I literally do not care about this stupid conversation,” Scratch says. 

“Whoa,” Trigger says, meeting Joey’s eyes in the rearview, all wide-eyed, and Joey shrugs back at the question he sees. Alex must’ve gotten a little more vicious than middle fingers. That or Scratch made the mistake of texting ‘suck it’ or the like at his mother. 

“Nice game-winner?” Trigger says after an awkward ten seconds.

“Three more goals went in, it doesn’t even matter,” Scratch says, and the next shrug Joey aims at Trigger is a little more helpless.

“What’s up, dude?” Joey says, when Trigger flees the car at his apartment. Poor driver can’t flee, and Joey shouldn’t subject him to it, but here, Scratch is trapped into answering, and once they get to their building he won’t be. “Is it about Owen coming, because—”

“Not everything in the entire world is about Owen,” Scratch snaps. “Okay?” 

“Okay,” Joey mutters, and the rest of the ride is silent.


End file.
